


Shot Through the Heart (And You're To Blame)

by evenmyneck (stopmopingstarthoping)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Flirting, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 12:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21373822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmopingstarthoping/pseuds/evenmyneck
Summary: Catherine and Shamir couldn't be more different. Their fighting styles, attitudes, even the way they talk; it's all a study in contrasts.Shamir is a mercenary. She doesn't get attached. Besides, Catherine is too devoted to Lady Rhea and the Church to be susceptible to that kind of distraction... Right?
Relationships: Catherine/Shamir Nevrand
Comments: 14
Kudos: 76
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2019





	Shot Through the Heart (And You're To Blame)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rosage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/gifts).

A noise between a growl and a roar emerged from the whirling, shining knight busily slashing the practice dummies to shreds. Sun glinted off her polished armor and her white-blonde hair, flying free of a helmet as she moved through various forms. 

"Someone has to put those back together, you know. You should volunteer to do it sometime. It's a pain." Shamir spoke drily from the sideline, her arms folded across her chest. 

Catherine was a gale force of raw attack power, and Shamir had noticed her skill and focus the moment she set foot in the monastery. She wondered who had trained her, and what drove the intense fury behind each one of her movements.

Catherine swept unruly strands back from a sweaty forehead with a grin. The sun glinted off the drops dotting her face, and she laughed.

“Don’t worry, I’ve put these things back together enough times myself. It’s a good task for the younger students. Builds muscle.” She winked at Shamir, dragged a forearm across her face, and strode away, clanking slightly even in the light training armor she wore.

Unbelievable. Shamir didn’t want to admit it, but she’d enjoyed that wink much more than she should have. She shook her head and retrieved a bow from the armory, ready for target practice. Visions of metallic armor and rippling arms invaded her solitude, however, and Shamir scowled more than usual.

* * *

Catherine marveled as Shamir moved between the targets, her footsteps inaudible. She was quiet and graceful, fluid and self-possessed, and clearly an absolutely deadly threat. Catherine tried to pretend she wasn't watching as Shamir went through her training forms. She didn't have time or energy to be distracted. 

The key was always the next battle, the next step forward, the next achievement to lay at Rhea's feet. To bask in the smile of approval and then muster all her force for tomorrow.

But….maybe there was something to be learned here. Shamir’s tactics were admirable, and Catherine had never been worth a damn at sneaking. Taking an enemy by surprise might mean someone’s life one day. Maybe hers. Maybe Rhea’s.

A sardonic tone interrupted Catherine’s thoughts. 

“Are you going to stand there all day, or did you want a turn? Didn’t think Rhea’s _ knights _ were particularly into loitering all day, but I’m not going to tell you how to do your job.”

The words were even more infuriating given that Shamir continued to move swiftly around the training room, sending arrows whizzing into targets and not even looking at Catherine as she spoke.

Catherine squared her stance, slightly on the defensive. “I’m not an archer. It’s all yours!” The expansive sweep of her arm almost knocked over the pile of lances to her left, and Catherine felt herself flush. She scratched the back of her neck.

“If you wouldn’t mind...I _ would _be interested in learning some of those stealth tactics of yours. They’re pretty impressive. And they’ve saved my hide more than once out in the field, as you know.” She dipped her head in acknowledgement.

_ Duty before pride_, Catherine reminded herself.

Shamir grinned, and walked over to Catherine with a catlike expression.

Catherine ended up having to tell herself to swallow her pride several times that afternoon. By the end of their session, muscles were aching that she didn’t know she had, and Shamir still heard her every time.

* * *

“You know, we do complement each other pretty well.” Catherine looked at Shamir’s lithe, dark beauty next to her own blonde, tanned reflection in the locker room mirror.

To her horror, Shamir watched herself blush, and turned away.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she mumbled, leaning over to fix a bootstrap that she’d already fastened.

“Suuuure you don’t.” Catherine swaggered over to her, arms crossed and a shit-eating grin on her face.

Shamir panicked internally. How had Catherine found out? Shamir had been certain that her detailed fantasies about what Catherine looked like under all that armor, yes, and the clothes too, were her own secrets. Were they all there written on her face for all to read?

Catherine continued. “I can clear a path, and you pick ‘em off, before or after. Pretty deadly together, if you ask me.”

Shamir let out a breath, which wavered at the end and made her scowl. “Oh. Yeah. I guess.”

Catherine’s laugh came from deep in her chest and burst forth like a ray of sunshine. “You don’t have to guess! Taking that giant beast down last week, just the two of us, proves it. Thanks for your help, by the way. Couldn’t have done it without you, partner.”

Shamir just nodded, and Catherine tossed a towel over her shoulder and strolled away. 

Catherine had taken to calling Shamir “partner” after they kept getting tasked together in battle. She knew there was nothing to it, and yet something in her thrilled to it every time the word left Catherine’s lips.

Shamir wondered, as she dried her hair. She wondered if Catherine had ever had any partners who knew every inch of her skin under the armor; who knew her better than she knew herself. Or had it all been for the Church, for Rhea, and only that?

Shamir doubted it, honestly. Catherine was simply just too big—of heart, of strength, of appetite—to be so limited. At least in Shamir’s mind. She wondered more about Catherine’s appetite, and what particular types of things she preferred, as she picked up her things and left.

* * *

Pretending to oil the swords, Catherine watched Shamir teach Ignatz an advanced bow technique. She had little patience for his insecurity, but at the same time encouraged every small step of progress. When the small man had nearly sweated through his unfortunate haircut, Shamir released him with a rare smile and an overly terse compliment.

Catherine watched the smile change Shamir’s face: her eyes softened and Catherine found her gaze lingering on the other woman’s lips.

Of course, Shamir caught her looking, and one eyebrow raised in her direction in question and a little bit of challenge.

Catherine shook her head, laughed, and proceeded to the stables. _ Can’t sneak one past you, Shamir, can I? _

* * *

Shamir ducked a spell directed at her head, and rolled. Her bow made it uncomfortable and a little awkward, but it was enough. She was out of range, and darted between the hedge of trees to where the rest of their party was fighting. As she took a moment to flick her eyes around the field quickly, she was just in time to see Catherine take a large, gleaming silver axe directly to the chest.

She fell, with a rasping shout that was hollow and regretful at once. Shamir looked around frantically for Marianne, but she was busy trying to keep three other party members on their feet at the same time as trying to avoid being ridden down by a knight with a lance.

“Dammit, Catherine! Not like this!" It taxed Shamir's strength to drag the large knight in all her armor under some forest cover, but she did it, arms shaking with the effort. 

She started trying to unbuckle Catherine's armor, but a sharp cry from Hilda nearby drew both their eyes, and Catherine pushed her away, back toward the fighting, toward their allies. 

"Take— " Unable to finish the sentence, Catherine whispered. "Take Thunderbrand. If they get in close…"

Shamir set her mouth in a firm line and shook her head. “I’ve got my dagger. I’m not leaving you defenseless.” She pressed a vulnerary into one of Catherine’s hands and laid the relic within her reach. She tried to smile, gaze darting up to keep an eye on their enemies. “You know I can’t use that thing anyway.”

Catherine was too taxed to smile back, but she managed a twitch of the lips, and there was a look around her eyes that Shamir carried with her until the battle was finished.

It was gritty, and grinding, and terrible, but it was done. Her legs screaming with exhaustion, Shamir sprinted back toward where she’d left Catherine, hoping it wasn’t too late.

* * *

Shamir's hands were covered in dirt and ash and who knew what else. She was tired to the bone and beyond. 

Still, she sat watch. Marianne had called Mercedes to assist, and Shamir had tried dutifully and failed not to worry about what that meant. 

Catherine slept, currently, but her chest rose and fell in such slight movements it looked closer to unconsciousness. Shamir wanted to reach over and grasp the calloused hand lying on top of the coverlet, but it was unsettling how still it was. In Shamir’s memory, she’d never seen those sun-kissed hands so idle.

What’s more, she herself was a mess. It had been a day and a night since the battle, and despite the urging of their comrades, Shamir had refused to leave Catherine’s side. She hadn’t showered, and the cursory hand-washing she’d done had only cleaned up the worst of it. So much of it was ground in. She was sure she stunk. And yet, she couldn’t leave.

_ All that talk about being a mercenary. All the things you’ve been telling yourself about loyalty, and making your own choices. All gone, swept away by one pair of pretty eyes and a boisterous laugh. _

As the thoughts formed, Shamir felt the sharp longing in her chest to hear that laugh, see that teasing gaze again. Her yearning was too strong to let her sleep, and so she sat watch.   
  


Blue. Sky-blue, sea-blue, azure, cerulean: all of the ridiculous synonyms flooded Shamir’s mind as she saw the beacon of those eyes blink open. She did grab Catherine’s hand then, almost without thinking.

Almost.

“You scared the life out of me. Of—of us.”

Catherine’s voice was, thankfully, just as strong as always. To her horror, the timbre of it made tears well in the corners of Shamir’s eyes.

“Huh.” Catherine looked thoughtful, and Shamir was infuriated.

“Huh, what?” 

“Didn’t think I would get to see _ exactly _ the face I wanted after such a near miss.” 

Shamir blushed and scowled. “Wouldn’t you rather have Lady Rhea?”

Catherine laughed, and this time, it was a little weaker. Shamir felt a pang of regret for her comment, but Catherine just continued. 

“For approval, sure. I want her to know just how hard we fought for her.”

Shamir nodded as Catherine kept talking.

“But for comfort, for...what I would want?”

Shamir’s eyes widened, and Catherine’s hand came up to brush dark-violet strands back from Shamir’s cheek. She felt Catherine pull her down almost before she realized what was happening.

Catherine’s lips were chapped, and dry, and Shamir knew her own were no better. And yet, the kiss was everything she’d dreamed of and more. She blinked her eyes open to a tender gaze lingering on her own face.

“I felt like I didn’t want to let that go any longer without saying something.”

Shamir giggled, and immediately promised herself that she would never forgive Catherine for pulling such a ridiculous sound from her throat.

Right after she claimed another kiss.


End file.
